The Music Flowed Through My Veins
by serenitysuicide
Summary: ONESHOT!  Hiro deals with his own private torment as he performs on stage.  Adult themes as expected from me including selfharm.  Please R&R! Fic always better than my badly written summaries.


Hidey Ho! I know what your thinking, yet another depressive cutting fic but this time its Hiro! LE GASP! Well you know what they say, write what you know. This was just a one shot that I've got some ideas to continue it. Written one night when I was feeling… bad. Let me know what you think and if I get some reviews or something I might think of finishing it.

Disclaimer – As always Gravitation isnt mine… Damn!

Warning – Contains seens describing the act of self injury, alcohol abuse and depression.

All pairings from original series apply.

* * *

The music flowed through my veins. The notes like pure nectar, like honey, like ecstasy. Fingers darting across the fret board. Each movement like pure unadultered sex and the music was my mistress. It always has been. It always will be.

The crowd pulsated and thrived before us, like a the sea's waves coming ever closer to the shore as they climaxed with us at the end of every song. Worshipping us like we were their gods. Each new song sending pulsating shocks of pleasure through them. Making them beg us for more. More of Shuichi's glorious voice. More of Suguru's faultless keyboard playing. And more of my passionate guitar riffs. I may not be the best guitar player in the world but I will say one thing… I make this look good.

There is always something magical when you step onto a stage. Even when Bad Luck was just starting out. Each and every time we performed would send goosebumps over our bodies. Its like making a conection with every single person that can hear you, everyone that can feel you. Just as though you were letting them inside your own passion. Letting them mingle with the music and the soul who produced it.

And to be honest, the band and the music, even solo practacing is a thankful distraction from just about everything else in my life. Something to fill myself with, until the music stops. Every time I find myself now, alone, my mind races. Not the most pleasantist thoughts, I guess you would call them. I don't express them really, I don't want to. I guess its hard to in front of others. It's a very private thing. But is easy to hide these dark, angsty and depressive thoughts from the fans. I mean, Shuichi is the frontman, the soul and heart of this band. It is him that people love and adore. And to be honest without him holding this band together, we would just crumble and fall. Its just so much easier to hide behind him. He has enough personality for the both of us. And I, just like always, will just play the quiet, sexy sophisticated and misunderstood guitarist. You try to push the fans away and they just seem to find that even more arousing.

Usually however, depression finds its way out through music. How many times have I seen a distressed pop star try to publisise their pain and suffering under the lime light. Ok sure, I will admit there are certain 'industrial vicotrian style violinists' who have made a career out of it, and it has really _worked_. Their true persona laid bare before the world, begging for acceptance. But nearly every time I open the latest magazine, if it be music related or even the daily news, there are spreads before my eyes of the latest celebraty rehab exposure. Some of them even selling their stories for cash. Usually which is then immediately spent on their latest addiction, wether it be alcohol, drugs or razor blades. It is disguisting really. You are given the money to face public humiliation and ultimetly execution. I would rather die alone. I guess people would call me macabre for thinking like that but I guess that Im just that sort of a guy.

If I was sent to rehab though it would more then likely before my alcohol problem. Though I wouldn't actually admit that it is a problem to anyone. Of course people like the odd drink but for some of us it's the only way to help us relax. The nerves and shakes coming until we taste that sharp poison on our lips. Anyway, I don't think I would ever sell my story. Its damn right disrespectful to everyone damaged by your 'problem'. Speaking of damaged, I think my liver may actually kick in before I am fourty. Hm, twenty years to go. Might as well live them in style. I suppose you would call this lifestyle reckless. Though arnt most young peoples? Alcohol, drugs, motor veichals and extreme sports, to name but a few. Their major influences on all our lives even if we don't experience them personally. We all know at least one person that has had a problem with them, be it friend, family or even seeing someone on the street. Its just like your supposed to know atleast one person in your life who has battled with cancer. With so many dangers in the every day world though, who wouldn't find some of these exciting or daring or perhaps even a little bit of a turn on. Its fun to live on the edge of death. Or at least I think it is. I mean, you could die at any time, you could be hit by a car or something and if you don't strive to live in the mean time then your probably already dead. Maybe I am dead though. I certainly feel like it. There is something intoxicating when a thrill seek goes wrong. Its that little bit of pain that shows you that you are still indeed alive.

Its annoying really. Before Bad Luck got our NG contract I could do everything that I wanted with not a care in the world. No responsibilities and people to rely on me. Now with baby sitters like K and Mr. Sakano, its hard to get any freedom at all. Hell they even took my motorbike from me for the fear that I would fall off it and probably crack my head open. I'm forever being nagged, well we all are. Constant reminders that we are the company's kids. '_Don't do this. Don't do that. What if you injure yourself. Think of the band' _and of course the usual_ 'Its for the good of the band'. _Bah! Its annoying though when you have to give up your argument, for a life other then the band, because of a shoved in your face. Call me ironic but I'd perfer to go out in a blaze of glory and not with my brains splattered out all over the side walk, which I wouldn't put past K to do.

Anyway like I said, its increadably hard to get that little tiny shot of 'realism' in your life. I don't know If that's the right word to use but damn it feels so good. Mixed with my depression and alcohol reliance, I finally found the some relief. Of course its not quite a cure but fo the time being it works and I have our wonderful fans to thank for it. So next time you get the urge to tell a member of yoru favourite band that it was their music that helped you stop cutting, clear your depression and of course be a better person. That they might never have thought about it until you brought it up. Its not something that is shined upon in the society and the mainstream media. Not many happy-go-lucky bands out tend to I suppose. We are supposed to be perfect. But we are still human and not without flaws just like anyone else. And to be honest I have to give myself some credit, for not thinking about it before, cutting I mean.

It's a natural reaction to cup a wound and help it heal. But it takes real facination and a sick love of that pain wether it be sharp and stinging or dull and throbbing, to sit there and watch your life flow out of you. To lie there, and feel it ebb out of you, feel it pool and drip, letting your body and soul feel lighter as your mind rises to a better place. To eventually bring the wound up to your face and study how skilfully parted the flesh has been. I love the really deep clean cuts. There is something just intoxicating about them. How the flesh has been parted with a hiss of pain to leave a gaping slash that has to recover from the shock before the crimson liquid can start to fill it in and then drip down your arm. Like me, I bet as a child you would hurt yourself, lets say cut a finger, and then raise the cut to your mouth and suck on it and a hope that it would lessen the pain. Isn't it a gloreous taste? Metalic, warm and some how comforting. I love it, its like nectar. A sign that even though I may feel dead on the inside, I am indeed very much alive and kicking. Even now the thought of its taste sends shivers through me. Perhaps in a previous life I was a vampire, and I was killed for being so maniacly evil. But I would like to believe that I was bitten and converted and before tasting my first drop of crimson liqure, I was killed.

Anyway before this becomes any gloomier then it is and becomes a Bram Stoker novel. What I'm trying to say is, yes. I thought about cutting myself. Yes I tried it. And like all great thrills, I have become addicted. I am a cutter. Shock horror, I know. Well like people say, admitting it is the first step to recovery and all that other bull shit. Which come on, no one actually believes.

As the lights dim and the crowd screams for more as security start the monotomous task of guiding the mass to the exits, we exit out of a side door and try to make our way to the tour bus. Thankgod it's the last night of this fifteen gig tour. Now to get absolutely wasted and enjoy myself for once and who gives a damn what the consequences are!

Shuichi is dripping with sweat, gulping down water by the gallonful. His tight probably over revealing clothes clinging to his slight frame, that drives the girls and Yuki wild. Candy pink hair plastered to his face from a grueling two hour nonstop work out of acting the idiot he is for the fans. Suguru is in a similar state and so am I. Grabbing a towel off one of the top of one of my amps as we left, I wrapped it around my neck and helped myself to the bottle of water next to it. Each gulp of it calming the furious desire of thirst within me. Just before the end I poured the rest of the water into my hand and pushed my hair back with it, in a vein attempt to try and calm the tangled mess that it had become. Its already smelling and thick with sweat but that doesn't mean that it has to look disguisting too. Thankgod photos don't have smellovision built into them.

As is ritual with any music concert, after your gods have pleased you and you have soaked up every inch of their energy that they have to offer you, you have to thank them and get them to sign random t-shirts and CDs, concert tickets and on the odd occasion breasts. And of course pose for low quality photos taken with mobile phone cameras.

Hopefully though I would try to sneak past them and at least get a clean shirt. This is smelling absolutely rancid. Like something climbed in it, curled up and died. Oh wait. That's me. Its not like I can take my shirt off while we play. Camera's catching the scarred mess and recent cuts on my body freaks me out and not to mention the shit it would cause and the questions for the guys. No I need to do it in the privacy of one very small bathroom on the bus.

The guys are already busy at dealing with the crowd by the time I reach the exit. Shuichi lapping up every bit of attention. If you looked up attention seeker in the dictionary, you would see a picture of him. Suguru too, is busy. Signing every thing that gets thrown in his general direction. But both are egar to escape and relax. K of course is on the scene. Scaring people away with his bazooka or even tazering the odd over excited fan who attatch them selves to our legs like rabid, undersexed dogs.

I almost escpaed. Freedom was so near but my arm was snagged. Dammit. Trying to pull free, I turned to see what my shirt was caught on. It was a tiny delicate hand gripping with a featherlight touch onto me. The hand belonged to a young girl and she was beautiful. She must have only been about 17 but she was absolutely stunning. Shoulder-length firey red hair framing her adorable heart shaped face just like Shuichi's. She could almost have been his twin, with the same big eyes and pouty lips. She was wearing baggy jeans and a massivly oversized jumper. It seemed to swallow her up, but it just about hid her skinny little body. Around her was the most glorious scent of Lavender. I don't know if it was the perfume she was wearing, but I will remember until the day that I die. Even though she was beautiful in every way, for me the most amazing thing about her were her eyes. Mischevious and a deep ocean blue they showed so much emotion. So much love and adventure and yet so much pain and suffering. I could have spent all of my life staring into those eyes and not have given a damn about the rest of the world and anything in it. It was as though I was drowning in them.

Sure I've seen many beautiful fans in my life time. I mean of course 75% of them doll themselves up in the hope of getting with one of the band but this, plain yet beautiful delicate little flower was a natural beauty to whom I felt compeled to be near. To want to be in here presence always. I hate to call it electric, but it really felt like a major spark, or like a gravitational pull drawing me to her. It was like I had known her my whole life. Like she knew me. And I don't mean the popstar façade but she knew the real Hiroshi Nakano. Silly I know. But just like a dream she was there and then she had vanished. In my hand was a small piece of cream coloured paper and smelling somewhat of her lavender scent, was written seven small little words in gold calligraphy. "Don't live in pain. Feel the music."

I have no idea, how long I stood there, clutching the note and staring into the distance where she had been standing. Had she been all in my imagination? But surely not. This note was physical proof that she has been there. But perhaps she had been an angel. I will never know. But I do know I will never forget her. It's the sort of story you tell your grandkids about your first real love.

"Hiro are you coming or not?"

The fans had dispersed and were making their way home. Content with their idol worship until the next time that we played at their musical mecca. Shuichi stood at the steps of our massive tour bus, holding onto a bright electric blue alcopop bottle. He was slurping through a straw. A huge grin plastered to his face, happy that it was the first time that he had been allowed to drink since the beginning of the tour. Sugar and alcohol and Shuichi Shindou. Ill just let that combination sink in for a second… Yes, not a pleseant combination is it. Anyway, he had descovered fruit based vodka mix on a trip to America last year which had ended up in England, when our plane had been diverted there due to volcanic ash or something and he has been a convert ever since, especially to the blue one. And much more of a headache ever since too. To be honest, none of us had had a drop of the monsterous beverage in a month while on tour due to scares that it was inhebriate us and make us wild, which of course would lead to injury and we wouldn't be able to play. I don't know what gave them that impression. Its not like a pink haired idiot had got so drunk and fallen down some stairs and given himself a black eye which had taken lots of make up to cover. Mind you it was one beauty of a bruise. I don't go wild unfortunetly. I go quiet and… depressed. Ok I said it. Step two on the road to recovery. Its not my fault really. Either its my creative juices that start flowing and I dream up marvolous depressive sinarios like – me alone in my studio appartment watching the world go by, not eating for days but massively content enough with a razor blade and a bottle of anything aslong as it is strong. Though it could be because I know alcohol makes me let down my guard around others. You could say I want them to know about my split personality, the dark me, or that I want sympathy and help. But if you did I'd tell you to shove that idea right where the sun doesn't shine. I don't need help. I don't need anyones sympathy. I just want to be me and alone to deal with this in my own way. Okay?

Perhaps it's the idea of the complete intoxication after a month of soberness, which in all honesty is a record for me, or the idea of that angel but I cant help but smile.

As the crew piled onto the bus to shower, change and head out into the city to celebrate. I took one last glance to where the girl had been. Gripping tighter on the note to make sure it was indeed real, I went to join my coleuges on the bus. But a small glint of light on the floor caught my eye. On closer inspection it was a necklace. Slight but perfectly formed. What I think is an amethyst gemstone set with silver flowers all around it on a long cord chain. Just like the note, smelling of her and lavender.


End file.
